


in the dark of december

by maleyka



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Christmas, Florida Panthers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-13 07:18:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9112387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maleyka/pseuds/maleyka
Summary: Kyle used to think that just getting Nick and hockey into the same place would be the magical solution to make everything fit. He may have been wrong about that.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lilcrickee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilcrickee/gifts).



> Happy holidays, everyone! We've almost made it! Many thanks to the mods for their work in running this exchange, to M for the last-minute beta, and to my recipient for leaving such a lovely, detailed letter for me. I hope you enjoy your present! ♥

Nick likes to have news running on TV in the background when they're at the house, one of those local stations with a letter and numbers name that Kyle can never remember. Nick says it's because he wants to be _more informed_ , although the news items usually seem to be about the endless number of alligators discovered in residential swimming pools or under cars. 

"One guy found one in his golf bag the other day," Nick says. He's sprawled out on the couch, glancing back and forth between the TV and the laptop on his chest. With his glasses and the computer glow bleaching his hair almost white, he looks kind of nerdy and middle-aged. Kyle thinks it's cute. 

"That's why people shouldn't live here," he says, absently skipping back on the game tape he's watching on a tablet. He's already seen himself fumble this pass three times and he's still not sure why he couldn't control it. 

The TV correspondent who's reporting live from the Waffle House parking lot where an adult alligator was apparently spotted this afternoon throws it back to the studio, and the female anchor says brightly, "Well, Jenise, maybe that guy would like to _sink his teeth_ into a sweet Christmas treat! After the break, we've got our very own Andrew Perez visiting a local bakery that is putting a new twist on the old classics this holiday season."

Kyle looks up in time to see anchor lady give the camera a jaunty wink. At the other end of the couch, Nick is quietly laughing to himself, because of course he thought that was funny. "We should bake something," he says, reaching for the remote and muting the commercials.

Kyle stares at him and misses the fourth replay of his failed pass reception. "Like … cookies?"

"Yeah," Nick says, gesturing towards the TV. "You know. Christmas treats. Eks makes cookies all the time, how hard can it be?"

"He lived with a professional chef for, like, two years," Kyle points out, and swears under his breath as he has to rewind the tape again. 

Nick peers at him over his glasses. "Are you seriously still watching that game footage?"

Kyle doesn't respond, too focused on finding the right time stamp again. He hisses when Nick kicks his thigh, which has been basically one big bruise since he got to Florida. "Dude. Ow."

"Sorry," Nick says. He sets his laptop down on the floor and then moves down the couch, until he's close enough to take Kyle's tablet away and shove it under a pillow. 

Kyle protests, "Hey," even as he shifts so Nick can more easily push him down against the cushions. "I'm still using that."

"You've watched that pass for like twenty minutes now," Nick says. His warm weight settles on top of Kyle like a favorite, familiar blanket. "If you haven't figured out what went wrong by now, you're never gonna get it. Trust me."

Kyle blows a frustrated breath towards the ceiling. "I just don't know if it's my positioning, or the flex on my stick -"

He trails off when he sees Nick's look and sighs. "I'm obsessing about it, aren't I."

"Little bit," Nick says. He leans in for a kiss, soft and lingering, and Kyle feels the tightness behind his ribs for the first time as it eases. 

He closes his eyes and tries to breathe in time with the rise and fall of Nick's chest against his. Nick would do this in college when Kyle got too worked up about ice time or exams, physically press him against some nearby surface and wait until his body heat managed to melt whatever tension was making Kyle's muscles lock up tight. Kyle never thought there was a method behind it or anything, but maybe he was wrong about that. 

"I'm good," he says finally, quirking one corner of his mouth up at Nick's searching look. "Might wanna turn the volume back on, or we'll miss the bakery thing."

Nick's ensuing scramble for the remote gets a genuine laugh out of Kyle after all. 

***

Tape review the next day involves three broken plays in which Kyle plays a role, and he's stiff in his seat by halfway through the session. 

He's not the only one by a long shot - Nick even gets jeered for a spectacular missed defensive assignment, good-naturedly waving his middle finger at the rest of the room in response - but it feels different. Nick and Yandle and Reilly Smith acknowledge their appearance on the Fuck-Up Show with varying levels of sheepishness, but still safe in the knowledge they'll be on the team sheet the next night. When Kyle can feel Coach's eyes on him during a sequence in which he stars prominently, he can't help but wonder if the decision to scratch him is being made right now. 

He's so distracted by his own thoughts afterwards that Ekblad has to practically step into his path in the hallway to get him to stop. 

"Never seen someone in such a hurry to get to the weight room, not even Jags," Ekblad says cheerfully. He probably hasn't shaved since October and his beard makes him look the same age as Kyle's dad. It's unreal. "So, hey, Bjugey told me about you guys hosting the baking thing this year, and I was wondering if you want me to ask Megan for recipes or if you have your own."

Kyle blinks. "Hosting the what?"

"Oh, Willie and Megan used to throw, like, a get-together for everyone who's in town on Christmas Eve. Make cookies, decorate them, that kind of thing." Ekblad shrugs. "It's kind of fun. There's hard cider, just make sure you drink it where the kids can't see. Anyway, we didn't know if it was gonna happen now that Willie and Megan are off climbing glaciers or whatever, but Bjugey said you guys wanted to host at your place."

Kyle was already pretty sure that everyone on this team knows about him and Nick, even if they've never made an official announcement, so he doesn't know why the way Ekblad says _you guys_ and _your place_ makes the back of his neck prickle uncomfortably. 

"I don't know about any of that," he says. "You gotta ask Nick. It's really his place, so."

Ekblad sighs. "Bjugey and his plans, man. Thanks. I'll ask him."

"Sure," Kyle says. "Sorry."

"No worries," Ekblad says. He jerks his thumb over his shoulder. "You don't wanna come grab lunch from the lounge? I think most of the guys are sticking around for it."

Kyle hesitates. "Thanks, but I'm good," he finally says. "I'll take some home after. Just want to get in a session on weights while it's empty in there."

"You're making the rest of us look bad," Ekblad says with a grin, already starting to walk backwards away from Kyle. "All right, man, see you tomorrow, then."

"See you," Kyle echoes. He keeps standing in the hallway a little stupidly after Ekblad jogs off, until he manages to shake himself out of it and head for the weight room again. 

***

By the time they're back from their ten day road trip into December, any conversations about baking are a distant memory to Kyle. His whole body hurts, courtesy of getting muscled off the puck and right into the boards in Boston, an incident that didn't lead to anything but still keeps Kyle up at night. 

All things told, he's not in the best frame of mind to get back to Nick's place after a meeting with the trainers and find the front hall looking like a Christmas commercial vomited all over it. 

"Nick?" he shouts as he gingerly picks his way through a knee-high plastic nativity scene. There's a garland strung on the banister, so lopsided that Kyle can't tell if it's supposed to be temporary or not, and aggressively glittering angel figurines as far as the eye can see. 

"I'm in here!"

Kyle drops his bag, narrowly missing plastic Baby Jesus, only to get slapped in the face by the bitingly articifial smell of sugar cookies as soon as he steps into the kitchen. 

"Fuck," he says, picking up a spray bottle from the island and squinting at it through watering eyes. "What did you do?"

Nick stifles a sneeze into the crook of his arm. "I read that real estate agents use them to make their houses smell nice," he says. "So I started spraying it but it didn't seem to do a lot, so I kept spraying and -" another sneeze, "- turns out it just needs a minute to get going."

"It's like eighty degrees outside," Kyle says, moving closer to the opened kitchen window. The air seems more breathable there. "That's pool weather, not baking."

Nick manages to project a lot of wounded dignity for someone who apparently did their best to scent-spray themselves into the hospital. "I just thought I'd try it. You're not exactly providing a lot of the Christmas spirit around here."

Kyle sighs. "Is that why there's a whole nativity scene in the hall? I mean, no offense, but they're kinda -"

"Ugly," Nick finishes, followed by another sneeze. "Yeah, I know. The only decorations I could find were the ones that my grandma sent me when she didn't want them anymore. Apparently the nativity is solar-powered, it's supposed to glow in the dark."

"Great," Kyle says drily. "Festive."

"Well, unless you want to go to Target two weeks before Christmas," Nick says, in a tone that suggests he knows exactly how much Kyle will want to avoid that at all costs. He slams the kitchen window shut and walks into the living room to open the sliding doors to the garden instead. 

Kyle watches the rigid set of his shoulders and feels a twinge of guilt. He really hasn't provided much in terms of general festivity, even though he likes the Christmas season a lot. There's usually a bunch of low-key team events and if their days off line up right, he and Nick sometimes even manage to spend some time together. That's probably not going to be an issue this year. If anything, Kyle should be flooded with holiday cheer. 

Maybe he just can't feel it over all the bruises. 

"Look," he says. "I don't really care either way. We can decorate if you want."

Nick is staring through the open doorway into the hall and right at the nativity, if his pained expression is anything to go by. "Let's maybe put some things in the back yard for now."

Kyle shrugs. "It's your call."

"I mean, I don't care about _this_ stuff." Nick drums his fingers against his thigh, his only nervous habit. "I just want to do something special since you're here. I never really decorate or anything when it's just me and I'll probably be gone for Christmas anyway."

Kyle knows it's not supposed to be reminder about anything - like him being down with the farm team, or Nick almost always being the one taking expensive holiday plane rides - but the words still worm their way into his rib cage and stay there, a tiny ball of guilt and annoyance and feelings that Kyle had thought were successfully buried. 

"Right," he says, taking a deep breath and promptly starting to cough. 

Nick is still drumming his fingers. "I'm just really glad you're here. I want to … I don't know. Mark it, I guess."

Kyle finally gets his cough under control. "Right," he says again, voice thick. 

They stand in silence for a moment before Nick asks, "Should we go out for dinner?"

"Yes," Kyle says emphatically, not sure if he's more relieved to escape the kitchen or the conversation. 

***

They go to a seafood place near the beach, and somewhere between the breeze off the water and the giant plate of appetizers, Kyle's bad mood disappears. He silently reaches for Nick's hand under the table and Nick bumps their knees together companionably. 

This is what it's been for, Kyle reminds himself, all the hours spent in the gym or doing tape review or practicing his wrister in an empty rink. Making it to Florida. Making it to Nick. 

He leans into the feeling of quiet contentment as much as he can, resting his palm on Nick's thigh and watching his smiling profile for most of the ride back. 

"What?" Nick asks finally, as he's pulling into the driveway. 

"Nothing," Kyle says. 

_Just trying to memorize this in case I have to leave again._

The thought pops up along with a familiar pressure in his chest and Kyle staves it off as resolutely as he knows how, leaning across the center console to capture Nick's mouth in a kiss. He's warm and tastes faintly of garlic, and a shiver runs down Kyle's spine at the possessive way Nick's big hand curves around the back of his neck to pull him in further. 

They make out in the front seat like they're back in college, until the air in the car feels stale and Kyle is achingly hard. Nick brushes his knuckles over the bulge in the front of Kyle's shorts and swallows heavily. His hair is standing up all over the place. "We should probably go inside."

They trip their way into the house unwilling to break contact, knocking over half the nativity in the process, which makes Nick laugh hysterically and Kyle shudder with an acute case of Catholic guilt. 

"I'm definitely going to hell," he mutters as he kicks the empty manger out of his way, and Nick laughs even harder, half-dragging Kyle down the hallway towards the bedroom. 

***

The next day's mail brings a stack of holiday cards from their families. Most of them only have Nick's name on them, although one says _The Bjugstad Family_ , which Kyle is pretty sure is a joke from Curt. The handwriting looks awfully familiar. 

"Funny," he mutters, shoving it into the bottom of the pile a little more forcefully than necessary, and then pauses when he finds a letter sent from Alaska and addressed to the both of them at Nick's house. When Kyle opens it, there's a post-it with a short recipe stuck inside a card. 

_Dear Nick & Kyle_, the card says, _just in case you have a use for it, here's my most reliable sugar cookie recipe! It never fails and it's easy to make with the kids. Willie and I are so glad that another couple volunteered to step up for hosting duties! (Hopefully for many years to come.) xoxo, Megan Mitchell_

Kyle stares at the words, his heart beating uncomfortably fast. Finally, he puts card and post-it back into the envelope and leaves the whole stack on the table in the hall for Nick to take care of once he's out of the shower. 

***

Kyle is used to fighting for his spot, but playing in the NHL has taken that to a whole different level. At times, it feels like he's having to scratch and claw just to hang on, even the drills in practice running on a level he has to stretch to reach. The pain doesn't bother him, but he is starting to feel the strain, the constant grind of having to think a little bit quicker, go a little bit harder than he's used to, on and off the ice. 

It's worth it, Kyle keeps reminding himself. It's always been worth it. 

Scoring his first goal in the NHL was the best moment of his life, and that includes the night that he and Nick got together. That one is still the most important, but it's because of the four years since, like the moment has gotten bigger in reverse. When it first happened, late at night outside Kyle's dorm building, it was just a teammate Kyle had a crush on leaning into his space and surprising him with a kiss. It was good, which is why the last four years have happened, but as an experience it was nothing like seeing the goal light come on and feeling his whole body come alive with wild, explosive joy. 

Hockey has taken a lot out of Kyle over the years, but it's also given him back moments like that. It's given him Nick, too. All of Kyle's best hockey memories involve him in some way, and so the way he loves hockey and the way he loves Nick are all tangled up together. Hockey is endless, grinding effort with a payoff that's so intense, you couldn't sustain it any longer than the adrenaline high lasts. Nick is happiness, the kind that quietly fills Kyle from the inside out until he feels his heart skip every time Nick smiles at him. 

Kyle can't imagine his life without either of them. That's his problem. He used to think that just getting Nick and hockey into the same place would be the magical solution to make everything fit, but he may have been wrong about that. 

***

Kyle has been in Florida seven weeks to the day when Rowe calls him into his office. It turns out to be nothing, just a friendly talk about how he's settling in and if the organization can do anything more to help him - Kyle tries hard not to read any subtle hints about his performance into it - but he can practically feel the tension leaving his body as he closes the door on his way out. 

Nick is playing cards with a few guys in the players lounge, looking unconcerned. "They want anything?" he asks as he fends off Marchessault's attempt to sneak a look at his hand with an elbow. 

"Not really," Kyle says, pulling out a chair at the other end of the table. "Just, you know. How I'm doing, that kind of thing."

"Gotta make sure Bjugey's taking care of you," MacKenzie says as he puts down a nine. The rest of the table groans. Kyle has no idea what game they're even playing. He knows there's one that the team basically made up for themselves, but he hasn't had opportunity to learn it. 

Nick tosses a five on top of MacKenzie's nine with a frown of concentration. "Please. I'm an excellent provider."

Marchessault raises his eyebrows and adds an ace to the pile. "It's not like we ever see Kyle outside the rink. You could be keeping him locked in the basement."

"Or maybe he just doesn't like any of you fools," Trocheck says. He gives Kyle an exaggerated wink. "Not like me and this guy. We go way back."

Kyle manages a smile. "All the way to San Antonio."

"The good old days," Trocheck says wistfully. "Remember the barbecue?"

Kyle mostly remembers the overwhelming muddle of emotions that was leaving Minnesota and trying to adjust to the AHL while also earning a call-up, like climbing a ladder one-handed and dragging a weight with the other arm. Of course, Trocheck had actually gotten the call and never looked back, so he probably has some nostalgia to spare. 

Abruptly, Kyle realizes that everyone is looking at him with the expectation of an answer. "I remember the team getting me food and you eating half of it," he says, taking a peanut from the little snack bowl on the table and tossing it at Trocheck's chest. 

"Of course he did!" Marchessault shouts, at the same time that Nick says, "Oh my god, Vinnie." 

Trocheck smirks unrepentently. "Sorry, bud. I'll take you out for dinner if Bjugey gives you a night off from husband duties."

Nick groans, the rest of the group laughs, and hopefully nobody notices the way Kyle's smile slips sideways. 

"You should take Vinnie up on it," Nick says a while later, as they're walking to his car. "He's a good guy. We've got a lot of good guys."

There's an undertain tone to his voice, things he hasn't been pushing Kyle about filling the spaces between words. 

Kyle squints into the light, trying to find a suitable non-answer to Nick's non-question. "Yeah, maybe. I'm just … busy, you know."

He expects Nick to drop it there, the way he usually would, but instead Nick clears his throat. "They ask about you sometimes."

Kyle's heart sinks. "Ask about me?"

"Nothing bad," Nick says quickly. He walks closer to Kyle until their elbows brush. "I guess they just worry you're avoiding them on purpose, or something."

Kyle doesn't say anything, caught between the impulse to deny and the uncomfortable feeling that denying a half-truth still makes a whole lie. He's so focused to getting to the car that he almost stumbles when Nick suddenly stops and holds him back by wrapping one hand around his arm. 

"They just want to get to know you better. They're your teammates, too."

"Yeah, for now," Kyle says before he can think better of it, and immediately regrets it when Nick's face falls. He sighs. "Can we not talk about this?"

Nick squares his jaw, and Kyle amends to, "Can we not talk about this in the parking lot?"

Nick's expression softens a fraction. "Yeah," he says, but Kyle is uncomfortably aware of the little sideways glances that Nick keeps giving him the whole ride back. 

The street is mid-day quiet when they pull up in front of the house. Nick turns off the engine and leans back in his seat. Long seconds tick by as Kyle watches a breeze ruffle the carefully landscaped plant border along the walkway to the door. 

"When I asked you about the Christmas decorations and you said it was my call," Nick says finally, fiddling with the car keys dangling from the ignition. "Did you really not care either way or did you just think, like … you might not stick around anyway."

The dread about this conversation that Kyle has kept suppressed for weeks wells up inside him with the force of a spring flood. "Maybe I just don't have an opinion on decorations."

"You have an opinion on everything," Nick says. He smiles, but it looks strained. "I like that about you."

Kyle swallows. "Nick -"

"Because I get it if you're worried about it," Nick says, turning half towards him. "But we -"

"How could you possibly get it?" Kyle interrupts him, sharper than he meant to. "When have you _ever_ not made any team you picked? Hell, they recruited you away from Minnesota early so you could -"

The look on Nick's face punctures his anger like a needle taken to a balloon. It leaks out of him basically mid-sentence. Kyle rubs his forehead. "Sorry."

"It's okay," Nick says quietly. "You're right."

Kyle swallows painfully. "I mean, it's okay," he says. "I'm happy for you. I'm proud of you. I always kind of liked it when the boys gave me shit about my fancy NHL boyfriend."

One corner of Nick's mouth quirks up. "You did?"

"Yeah, of course," Kyle says. He tangles one hand in the front of Nick's t-shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin underneath the fabric. "This is all I ever wanted, you and me, up here together. I just …"

He doesn't know how to explain the _but_ that's always lurking at the back of his mind. Nick basically got flown in straight to the top, while Kyle had to make his own way, and he's all too aware that the path up also goes back down again. It's no one's fault, but it still means that, sometimes, concerns are true for him that don't even seem real to Nick. 

Kyle flattens his hand on Nick's stomach, watching the way it moves with his breath. "I know everyone just wants me to feel comfortable and settle in and stuff, but … I can't pretend this means something that it doesn't. You know?"

When he raises his eyes, Nick looks so sad that Kyle's throat closes up in some kind of sympathetic reaction. He opens his mouth, not even sure what he could say, but Nick silently shakes his head and unbuckles his seat belt. 

"Let's just go inside, okay?" he says, and Kyle doesn't know what to do except nod. 

***

Thankfully, there's no more time to talk about it before pre-game naps and then getting dressed to head back to the rink. Nick is quiet, but acting normal otherwise, and Kyle is definitely not interested in pushing the issue. 

The game is okay, nothing to write home about, but at least it's a win, their first in five. The mood in the locker room after is more relaxed than it's been in a while. Kyle watches Nick laughing at whatever Vinnie Trocheck keeps saying in his ear and feels slightly better about himself and the world in general. 

He wakes up sometime during the night, not sure why, only to discover that the bed next to him is empty. 

The sheets are still warm when Kyle brushes his hand over them. He curls up on his side and tries to go back to sleep, like maybe Nick just went to the bathroom and will be back any minute, but the more time ticks by with no sign of him returning, the more unpleasantly awake Kyle gets. 

Finally, he kicks off his sheets and makes his way down the hallway towards the living room. He can already feel the cool draft around his feet before he looks around the corner and sees Nick sitting out on the patio, sliding doors open. 

The big paving stones are still faintly warm from the day's sun when Kyle steps outside. Maybe this is part of the reason why it just doesn't feel like Christmas to him at all; the weather is so wrong. 

"Hey," he says quietly, pulling up another chair to sit down next to Nick. "You okay?"

Nick keeps looking out into the garden. Kyle follows his gaze and nearly recoils at the sight of that fucking glow-in-the-dark nativity, sitting in the middle of the lawn like a posse of radioactive green aliens. "Oh. You put them up."

"I can't even figure out how Grammy got them in the first place," Nick says. "Like, who sells these?"

Kyle doesn't think an answer is expected of him, so he doesn't say anything. 

"I always thought we were just waiting for this," Nick finally says. "For you to get called up. And then we'd … I don't know. Really start, I guess." He picks at them hem of of his shorts. "But now you're here and you're still not here. Not really."

This is probably where Kyle should offer something, but his throat feels so tight, he's not sure he could get the words out. Nick looks over at him and smiles, faint and sad. 

"I know you've had to fight really hard to get your chance, and maybe I don't get it, but I'm just … tired. Of waiting."

"I know you are," Kyle says hoarsely. "I'm sorry." He wraps a hand around Nick's wrist, suddenly desperate just to touch him, remind both of them that at least there's this right now. They don't even have this most of the time. 

Nick shakes his head. "You don't have to apologize to me."

Kyle's chest hurts, like it's straining to hold in his pounding heartbeat. "I can't pretend that everything's settled," he says. "I can't do the Bjugstad Family cards, and decorations, and couple hosting thing. I keep thinking, what if I get sent back down tomorrow. I can't just lean back and act like I've made it."

"The Bjugstad Family card was Curt," Nick says. "I always thought we'd hyphenate, for the record."

When he turns back towards Kyle, the breeze blows a strand of hair sideways across his forehead, and Kyle reaches out instinctively to push it back. Nick's smile looks even sadder this time. "It's not gonna change, is it."

He doesn't specify what _it_ is - the package NHL teams are looking for, Kyle's talent level, his desperate love for a game that doesn't seem to love him back as much - but Kyle guesses there's no need to. The answer is the same. 

"No," he says, looking down at his hand on Nick's arm. 

Nick turns his wrist so his hand lies palm-up, and waits for Kyle to fold their fingers together before he says, "So we keep doing this for the next ten years? Always one foot out the door for you?"

There's a resignation in his voice that cuts Kyle down to the bone. He swallows hard. "Maybe." 

Nick drops his head against the back of the chair and closes his eyes. 

Kyle's heart is beating somewhere in his throat. "Do you want me to quit hockey?" 

Nick turns to look at him, clearly startled. 

"Because I'll do it," Kyle says. He's aware he's basically clinging to Nick's hand, but he can't seem to make his grip relax. "If you tell me that you can't do this any other way. I'll quit."

It's probably the most nakedly honest about how much he loves Nick that he has ever been, and by the look on Nick's face, Kyle thinks he knows that. He shifts his gaze over to the glow of the nativity, face hot. 

After a long moment, Nick squeezes his hand. "Do you want to?" 

His voice barely lifts to make it a question, because Nick knows the answer. Of course he does. 

"No," Kyle says softly. "Not yet." He tries to smile. "Maybe you could quit. Become _my_ trophy husband."

"Well, I'd have more time for fishing," Nick says, and Kyle is grateful that he goes along with the joke even though that's all it's ever going to be. There are many good reasons why Nick being the one to retire is not even an option, starting with the obvious financials and ending with the fact that Kyle doesn't even have a real place in Springfield. 

Nick sighs. "I'm not going to make you do anything you don't want to," he says. "That's not a solution, that's just … I don't know. Beating the problem to death."

"How graphic," Kyle mutters. 

They sit in silence for a while. Finally, Nick carefully untangles their hands and gets up. 

"I'm going back to bed," he says. "You coming?"

It feels actively painful to leave things like this, but they could probably talk around in circles for another hour and not come anywhere close to a solution. Short of Kyle giving up on something he's not sure his life would be whole without, there really isn't any answer that he can see. 

"Yeah," he says, pushing himself upright. "All right."

***

Kyle spends the next week turning the problem over and over in his head until it's worn smooth as a marble, and he still hasn't found a way to crack it. 

He can't give up hockey. He can't give up Nick. Nick can't live his life in a waiting pattern.

Kyle feels even worse because Nick is clearly trying to make their unworkable situation work. His haphazard attempts at Christmas decorations start coming down the next day, although the horrible nativity lingers on until the end of the week - "I'm almost getting used to it," Nick says, gazing outside during breakfast - and the cookie baking thing gets moved on short notice to the MacKenzie family's house. 

He's only taking the pressure off, exactly the way Kyle asked, but somehow it doesn't feel like much of an improvement. 

***

Their schedule leading up to the holiday break is packed, three home games in four nights. Not for Kyle - he's scratched for two in a row. 

Everyone else is already off after morning skate, saving up their strength for Boston tonight, so Kyle's got the ice to himself for extra shooting practice. He's so focused on working out his frustration that he doesn't realize MacKenzie's come back until he's basically standing right next to him. 

"Trying to put one through the net?" MacKenzie asks. He's already back in street clothes except for his skates. 

Kyle has to take a moment to catch his breath. "Something like that." 

MacKenzie nods, using his stick to corral one of Kyle's practice pucks. "Listen, I don't mean to stick my nose in," he says, and Kyle braces himself. He has been a hockey player long enough to know that they're all incapable of not sticking their noses in. "But it's not been a great time for you, eh."

"You talk to Nick?" Kyle asks, staring at the ice. 

"No," MacKenzie says. "But you look like you haven't had a minute to chill out since you got here."

Kyle grimaces. "I'm not really a chill person."

"I had no idea," MacKenzie says drily. He knocks his stick against the puck, sending it gliding towards goal. It hits the post and then reflects to the inside and in. MacKenzie sniffs, and abruptly asks, "Do you feel like you're impressing them?"

Kyle looks up in surprise. MacKenzie meets his gaze head-on. Finally, Kyle says, "Obviously not."

"Are you holding back?" MacKenzie asks. "Got anything more in the tank you're not giving at the rink? Not really committing on work-outs?"

The answer tastes sour in Kyle's mouth. "No."

MacKenzie nods thoughtfully. "Then I hate to tell you this, but the way you're doing things is not really working out."

"Yeah," Kyle snaps. "No shit."

MacKenzie holds his free hand up with a crooked grin. "Look, kid, I spent ten years bouncing between leagues. I sure as hell wasn't impressing them either."

That takes the wind out of Kyle's sails. MacKenzie gives him a close look before adding, "I know how it fucks with your head. And with your relationships, if you let it."

Kyle shifts one skate back and forth on the ice, digging the front curve in. "Nick wants me to be here for real," he says, followed by a hoarse laugh. "I mean, Jesus, that's fair, right? But I just -"

"Feel like that would be tempting fate?" MacKenzie finishes. "Yeah, sounds familiar." He fishes another puck out of the collection at Kyle's feet and sends it straight at the boards. "You realize that's bullshit, right? I know we're all kind of OCD about our habits and things, but nobody's getting sent up or down because the front office is reading their thoughts."

Kyle smiles ruefully. "Yeah. It just feels … I don't know." He takes a deep breath. "Like I need to brace myself. All the time."

MacKenzie's exhale sounds almost like a groan. "Yeah, I remember that, too. Fun times."

"Real fun," Kyle says. He pushes backwards a little until he can take aim at a puck himself. It goes in at an even slide without even touching the post. 

"Let me ask you something," MacKenzie says, resting his weight on his stick. "Has that ever worked for you? Ever been sent down and _not_ felt it like a kick in the balls?"

The question brings Kyle up short. It seems pretty obvious, but somehow he's never really considered it before. "Well," he says. "No."

"Never did for me, either," MacKenzie says. He gives Kyle a small smile. "So maybe it's time to try something different, eh?"

Kyle looks at him silently, thinking. 

"Also maybe it's time to get out of here before you freeze your fucking nose off," MacKenzie adds. 

That startles a laughs out of Kyle. "Yeah. Maybe."

MacKenzie doesn't actually help him collect pucks - "That's rookie work!" - but he's waiting for Kyle at the doors when he steps off the ice. 

"Hey," he says, taking the bucket off Kyle. "What's your favorite part of hockey?"

Kyle cycles through possible answers for a moment - _the smell of the rink, the feeling of freshly sharpened skate blades cutting into good ice_ \- before saying, "Catching a pass." Even now, he can feel the phantom impact vibrate through his stick. 

"Good one," MacKenzie says. He leans his elbows on the boards and looks out over the empty sheet of ice, still carved up from practice. "That's what people don't get about puckheads. This has been in our blood since before we could tie our own skates. You can't just quit it like a bad habit."

Kyle watches light reflecting off the few patches of smooth ice left. "I think I've practiced my wrister more often than I've tied my shoes," he says. "It's just muscle memory."

MacKenzie gives him a long look. "You don't have to lose the game before you're ready," he says. "But you have to manage it. Before it starts to eat the rest of your life." He straightens up and claps a hand on Kyle's back. "Trust me, I'm old and wise."

Something behind Kyle's shoulder catches his eye and he breaks into a wide grin. "Here to collect your lost boy?"

Kyle turns around to see Nick leaning inside the tunnel entrance. "If he's ready?" Nick asks. 

MacKenzie raises his eyebrows. _Manage it_ , Kyle can still hear his voice. 

He tucks his stick under one arm so he can take his gloves off. "Yeah," he says. "I'm done for the day. You gonna buy me a nice steak?"

"I can't believe how high-maintenance you are," Nick says, but he smiles. 

***

Watching a game from the press box is frustrating in a very particular way. The only consolation prize is the endless supply of press box food. 

Kyle looks up briefly when McIlrath drops back into his seat one over from him. "Wow," he says. "Did you have to play tetris to get all that on there?"

McIlrath grins and nudges his plate over towards Kyle. The top of the food mountain wobbles alarmingly. "Want some?"

Before Kyle can reply, Luongo leans forward between them. "Kylo doesn't eat in here. He thinks Tom's gonna put him on the plane back to Springfield if he sees him relax in public."

Kyle's cheeks heat with embarrassment. "Shut up."

"Is that how you speak to your elders?" Luongo asks, lightly cuffing the back of Kyle's head. 

McIlrath smiles uncertainly, clearly not sure how he's supposed to take any of this. He's even newer here than Kyle is. 

Kyle's stomach grumbles at the smell of wings wafting over. _Try something different_ , MacKenzie had told him. Chicken wings seem like an easy place to start. 

"Never listen to Lu," Kyle says, reaching over and grabbing two pieces at once. "Like, in general. You ever see his Twitter?"

McIlrath relaxes, and Kyle can hear Luongo laugh quietly behind him. He tilts his head back. "By the way, what's that weird card game you guys all play?"

"Kylo, my man," Luongo says and claps his hand on Kyle's shoulder. "Do you want to learn from the master?"

Kyle shrugs. "Sure," he says, "But I'll settle for you," and ducks another swipe at his head. 

***

 _Try something different_ , Kyle keeps telling himself like a mantra the next morning as he's lacing up for morning skate. _Try something different._

He's not at all sure it's a good idea, but it's the only new idea he's got. Doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results isn't just insanity, it's also a deeply stupid way of wasting his time and energy. 

_Try something different._

MacKenzie falls into step next to Kyle on his way to the ice. "You and me and Paulie again today," he says cheerfully. "Let's light 'em up, eh?"

 _Try something different._

"Let's," Kyle says. "I'm gonna get you a nice goal."

The whole time they spend together as a line, Kyle concentrates on putting the puck on MacKenzie's stick. He doesn't worry about looking for a lane for himself, doesn't try to do anything but get the puck, give it to MacKenzie, pass the puck, screen the goalie for MacKenzie, over and over. The singular focus feels surprisingly freeing. 

Kyle is stripping off his sweaty gear after when Coach Allen stops by his stall. "Good session today," he says. "Looked like you weren't squeezing your stick so hard. Keep it going in the game tonight."

He taps his notebook against Kyle's chest and keeps walking. Across the room, Nick gives him an incredibly dorky thumbs up, and Kyle can't help but smile in disbelief. 

***

By the time they get to MacKenzie's house on Christmas Eve, the cookie baking event is clearly in full swing. 

"Jesus," Kyle says, staring at the line of cars parked halfway down the street. "How many people are at this thing?"

Nick pauses to longingly peer into the front seat of a Porsche before catching up to Kyle with two long strides. "I don't know, a few dozen? Most of the guys come with their families, and a bunch of them have people visiting from out of town -"

He breaks off with a startled noise when Kyle yanks at his arm to lead them both around the side of the house. 

"Sorry," Kyle says. "We're supposed to come through the back."

"We are?" Nick asks, but by then they've reached an open set of doors leading into the family room. 

Kyle comes to a standstill in the doorway, momentarily overwhelmed by the sheer number of people in candy-colored sweaters milling around inside. This is worse than a Bjugstad family holiday party, although less intensely blond. 

"Think you can defend this spot?" Nick asks into his ear. "I'm gonna go find us some of the good drinks."

Kyle watches him carefully make his way through the crowd and reminds himself that there's a reason they're here. They only have to stay for a little while. 

He spends a fairly awkward ten minutes avoiding eye contact with other people's relatives and listening to the background music of a children's choir lisping its way through Silent Night, before going in search of both Nick and the drinks. Kyle eventually finds him in the dining room, sitting at the table with Vinnie Trocheck and a half dozen children. They appear to be decorating cookies together. 

"Sorry," Nick says sheepishly, looking up from brushing luridly red icing on a snowflake. "Yands needed a break but he didn't want to leave just Vinnie in charge of this station."

"Freaking rude," Trocheck mutters as he presses tiny silver stars into icing with painstaking precision. 

Kyle leans on the back of Nick's chair, resting his chin on top of Nick's head. "Sensible," he says. "Come on, I gotta show you something."

"And leave these innocent children to Vinnie?" Nick asks, sliding the snowflake over to the little boy on his right. 

"Go freak yourself," Trocheck says. He's bent so low over the cookie he's working on, his voice sounds muffled. 

"Come on," Kyle repeats and gently pinches Nick's side, the really ticklish spot below his ribs. Nick laughs and yelps at the same time, nearly falling out of his chair. 

"No rattling the table!" Trocheck barks. 

"Okay, calm down," Kyle says, stepping back so Nick can get up. "We're gonna leave you to your art."

Trocheck snorts and leans close to his cookie again. "Go show Bjugey _your_ art work."

"What art work?" Nick asks as Kyle steers him out into the hallway and towards the foyer. "Did you do something for the party?"

"Sort of," Kyle says. Now that this surprise is about to come off, he's suddenly starting to feel kind of nervous about it. He takes a deep breath as he leads Nick around the final corner. "Okay. Right here."

Nick's puzzled smile slowly fades off his face as he stares up at the banner hanging from the first floor balustrade. 

_THE BJUGSTAD-RAUS WELCOME YOU TO_

_THE THIRD ANNUAL CHRISTMAS COOKIE BAKE_

_AT DEREK'S HOUSE_

Kyle clears his throat, just to fill the sudden silence. The background children's choir has moved on to The First Noel. 

"I just thought, you know," he says. "Maybe we could start hosting stuff like this? But it was already scheduled now, so Derek's wife helped make the sign. And the Bjugstad-Rau thing is a joke, obviously, because you said we would be hyphenating …"

He trails off, feeling more awkward with every word. "Nick?"

"I can't believe you did that," Nick says. He takes Kyle by the arm and pushes him outside through the front door, slamming it behind them both. 

Kyle opens his mouth, but doesn't actually get to say anything because Nick backs him against the door and kisses him hard, both hands holding Kyle's face. Kyle closes his eyes, relief and familiar butterflies making his stomach feel pleasantly warm. 

"You could have done that inside," he says when Nick pulls back. 

Nick raises his eyebrows questioningly, sweeping one thumb along Kyle's cheek. "Really?"

"Yeah," Kyle says. He turns his head until he can kiss Nick's palm. "I don't mind people knowing about my fancy NHL boyfriend."

Nick's eyes crinkle up in a smile. "Same."

Kyle pulls him closer with one hand fisted in his shirt. "I'm sorry about the waiting," he says. "But I've been thinking about it, and I think we should … just start. Like you said."

Nick kisses his temple, the bridge of his nose, and leans his forehead against Kyle's. "You don't have to do that for me."

"I know," Kyle says quietly. "But I want to. No more foot out the door. Both feet totally inside." He smoothes the fabric of Nick's shirt where his grip has wrinkled it. "I can't promise that I'll always be here, but you can promise that we'll put out that horrible nativity while I am."

Nick laughs and pulls away with a final kiss to Kyle's forehead. "We can probably dig that out again."

Kyle glances down at the door knob by his hip. "Also, I'm pretty sure this doesn't open from the outside without a key," he says. "So how about we just leave and look for it right now."

Nick raises his eyebrows. "Are we sure Vinnie can control those kids?"

"I think he's ready for the responsibility," Kyle says, and pushes off the door to go home.

**Author's Note:**

> And then the Florida Panthers [went and made it sad](https://www.nhl.com/panthers/news/florida-panthers-recall-forward-greg-mckegg-from-springfield-ahl/c-285173466). Personally, I'm choosing to consider that an AU. Fuck you, Florida Panthers.


End file.
